


Sorry

by BullRun



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: its 4am and i have Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BullRun/pseuds/BullRun
Summary: Heather talks with Martha at the pep rally





	

The pep rally was in full swing. Cheerleaders cheered, the band sounded, and the crowds of wild teens roared in the bleachers. Heather McNamara was alone. She was avoiding the other Heather. (The only other Heather left. What happened to a matching set when you lost the pieces?) She was still too hurt and too tender to deal with her needles of attention.

She looked around desperately, trying to find someone in the stands around her.

Where was Veronica?

Veronica, sweet Veronica, who had saved her, who had still been her friend, even when she had broke rank at that other assembly. Despite Heather’s apparent popularity and looks, there was only one person she wanted to see.

She spotted a gleaming wheelchair on the gym floor next to the stands full of teenagers.

Martha. Martha would know. Despite her anathema status, Veronica had told her she was still close to the girl. (Sometimes, when stressing about her tiny sliver of acceptable actions and friends and outfits, Heather would think of Veronica’s popularity even while she associated herself with Martha Dumptruck. How could she hang out with _her_ , while Heather herself ate her lunch in the bathroom that day she wore an out of season jacket?)

Moving purposely, Heather made her way down the bleachers. She casually walked to the side of them, leaning near Martha almost accidentally. (She still needed deniability, after all.) She tapped the other girl on the shoulder to get her attention. Martha jumped at the contact and turned her wheelchair to face her.

Heather cut to the chase. “Do you know where Veronica is? I can’t find her.”

Martha looked around. “I’m not sure. I thought she was coming to the pep rally?”

Heather let out a frustrated sigh, more at herself than anyone else. It would be rude of her to just leave, wouldn’t it? (When had she started caring what Martha Dumptruck thought?) She eyed Martha’s wheelchair.

“Sorry about…” She gestured vaguely downwards.

Martha blushed, embarrassed. “Umm, thanks?”

Heather coughed and looked away. She really needed to get back to the bleachers… Her friends would talk.

And yet…

She couldn’t drag herself away. Not yet.

“I’m sorry about your’s, too,” said Martha suddenly.

Heather blinked. “My what?” Her legs weren't the ones broken.

Martha somehow looked even more embarrassed. “Your attempt. Your suicide attempt.”

“Oh.” Heather’s mind was whirling, making connections that simply had never been made. She looked at Martha straight on, processing her face, not as a lower caste of teen but as a fellow suicide survivor. “You need new clothes.”

“Excuse me?”

Heather scoffed lightly. “You need lighter colors. They’ll make you less weighty. Lose the layers. A touch of concealer.” She leaned far too close into Martha’s face. “Some good conditioner would sort out your hair issues.”

“Are you… trying to help me?”

“Yes.”

Martha smiled. (She was so pretty when she smiled? How had she never seen?) “I don’t think the clothes would help much.” She gestured at her legs. Her voice was a little tight with not yet healed hurt. “The were calling me Martha Dumptruck before I had wheels. I don’t think anything can stop them now.”

Heather laughed. It was a little too loud, even with the roar of the crowd, and it was a little too sweet, given its origin. She hoped that someone in the stands would look. The two of them, a Heather and an outcast, bound by their loose grasp on life.

She paused, but the momentum of her thoughts propelled her forward. “I regretted it as soon as Veronica stopped me. But. If I could go back in time, I would do it the exact same.”

Martha reached out a hand, capturing hers in a sweaty grip. (Bighearted, Veronica had said. She had always assumed it was a backhanded fat joke, but now…) “Are you okay?”

She squeezed back. “I think I can see why Veronica likes you.”

Martha’s smile was tight and worried. “I can see why Veronica likes _you_.”


End file.
